


Starfruits

by on_the_wing



Category: Starfighter (Comic), Starfighter Eclipse
Genre: Butts, Drabble Collection, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Kissing, M/M, gardening in space
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-07
Updated: 2020-10-07
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:14:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26867980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/on_the_wing/pseuds/on_the_wing
Summary: Everyone has to have a "drabble" collection, right? Some old, some new.
Relationships: Deimos/Helios (Starfighter), Phobos/Praxis (Starfighter), Porthos/Praxis (Starfigher)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 4





	1. Persuasion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This was for uh, something, but I forget what.

”You really need to get over Abel." 

Praxis almost dropped his tablet. "Porthos! What--"

"You're too obvious. It's embarrassing to watch." The navigator leaned closer, placing a warm hand on his shoulder. "Have you considered Deimos? He's cute and lonely, and Cain would hate it. Or how about Athos? He's got quite a mouth on him."

"You can't just pimp out people who cramp your style!"

"Or, if you're not into fighters..." Hot breath tickled his ear, and a hard, muscular body pressed against him, sending a flush of heat straight to his dick. "I could help you out myself.”


	2. Pretty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We had a thing in the discord where we were randomly assigned people to imitate (in text or art), and this was my attempt at Goodyear's style.

Helios abruptly broke off the kiss, and Deimos lifted his head, cheeks flushed and pupils blown out.

“Sorry, just a second." Helios hooked a finger into his mouth and extracted a hair, longer than his own, which had somehow crept in on its own nefarious mission.

The smaller man's lips curved upwards. "Pretty," he rasped. 

"The hair?" Helios examined it. Deimos certainly had pretty hair, but individual hairs all looked basically the same.

"No. You." Deimos sat up, gripping his hips with hot, ruthless thighs. 

All the blood immediately rushed out of his head. "Uh, thanks! You're pretty...pretty yourself.”


	3. Project Pomona

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Goodyear's extremely late prize for guessing all the butts in the 2020 summer challenge butt guessing...thing.

Sticking their noses in everyone’s business had born unexpected fruit, mused Helios as he watched the round peach of Deimos’ naked butt bouncing gently up the ladder. They could have worn clothes, but they’d agreed that not having to wash them would conserve water. They could have turned on the sprinkler system to water the vegetables on the top shelves, but um, water conservation. Yeah.

Project Pomona was a plum posting, normally given to officers recovering from minor injuries: a cozy satellite greenhouse full of every fruit, vegetable, and herb you could name and a lot you couldn’t, and nothing much to do but take care of them and look up how you were supposed to eat them.

Nothing _official_ to do, that is. Their budding relationship had blossomed rapidly, and Deimos’ sharp trowel of a mind had unearthed uses for fruits and vegetables that were almost alarming.

Helios watched appreciatively as Deimos bent over further and further, stretching to reach the carrots in the back. The protruding posterior wiggled temptingly, and Helios’ itchy trigger finger couldn’t take it anymore. He punched the sprinkler button and bolted, hearing the slap of wet feet in hot pursuit. With any luck Deimos would bring a carrot.


	4. Lost and Found

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There was a kiss meme of some sort in 2018 and Goodyear asked for Phobos/Praxis.

“Phobos? Pardon me? Phobos?” Praxis’ absurdly gigantic head and shoulders loomed above him, blocking out the light that Jules needed to see what he was fucking doing. It was almost a relief; he hated playing mechanic. “Hello? Phobos?”

“ _What?_ ” he finally spat out, dropping the screwdriver and looking up. “Excuse _me_ , what are you doing climbing up my ship like a monkey in heat?”

A gratifying flush of deep salmon spread across Praxis’ cheeks. “I–well–I–I’m very sorry to bother you. I was just looking for Ethos. My navigator.”

Jules gestured around the cockpit. “Does it look like I have him stashed here?” He mentally congratulated himself on his restraint; what he had been about to say was, _It looks like you lose a **lot** of navigators._

“Well, er, no, of course not. I merely wondered if you might know where–”

“Why would I keep track of Ethos’ whereabouts? I’m not a sheepdog.”

Praxis frowned, but continued. “I thought that since he and your fighter are…on friendly terms, you might possibly have some idea…”

 _They’re on **what**_. Jules let loose a silent internal scream. _Is that where he’s been lately? Shit. Even Praxis knows. Did everyone know but me? No, Port would’ve told me if he knew. Unless he was trying to spare me the humiliation? Or what if he’s not really as loyal as he seems? What if he hates me for still having feelings for Cook? Or-_ -

“Phobos?” Praxis was leaning in now, staring at him. What a giant lunk. What an imposition. What an absolute waste of space. Why would anyone risk himself for this stupid, needy lout? “Are you all right? You look–”

Jules grabbed the back of Praxis’ stupid colonial head and mashed their mouths together, ignoring his faint grunt of surprise. It took him a moment to figure out how to maneuver around Praxis’ indecently large colonial nose, but he proved startlingly easy to navigate, and Jules didn’t even need to apply force after the first couple of seconds. He did it anyway.

Once he felt even his own brain beginning to scramble, Jules pulled back and gave Praxis a hard shove, immediately picking up the screwdriver so he didn’t have to look at his face. “Now run along. I have work to do.”


End file.
